i love the view from up here
by gameboycolor
Summary: various kurt/blaine drabbles i've written over the past few months. rating - M over all.
1. oral fixation

Kurt has always been fascinated by the effect he has on Blaine. It's unreal, the way he has him completely. It's comforting, the rush of power he feels when he pulls away from a heated kiss only to be met with swollen lips and lust blown eyes. He runs his thumb along Blaine's bottom lip, smirking when his tongue darts out to taste. "Cheeky," he murmurs, pushing his thumb past the other boy's flushed lips.

He's curious, and who can blame him? He sees the number Blaine's done on all of his pens. His apparent fixation had once ended in him babbling and whining while he tried to rinse the taste of ink out of his mouth. Less teeth next time, advice that could definitely apply to other things. Not that they do that...

...yet.

He swirls his tongue around the pad of Kurt's thumb, and this entire situation should be ridiculous. It's glorified thumb sucking. It shouldn't be remotely sexual. He should be reminded of toddlers who took too long to be weaned off their pacifiers.

He isn't.

That is, until he notices the drool coming out of the corner of Blaine's mouth. Sexy moment officially over. He extracts his thumb, internally thankful that Blaine at least has the grace to look sheepish as he wipes the drool away with the back of his hand.


	2. hands

They held hands in the most uncertain of moments, like the first time Kurt slowly rocked into Blaine, clutching his hand like a lifeline. He could feel Blaine's fingernails press into the back of his hand, the pricks of pain doing their best to keep him grounded.

Despite how much it ached, they settled for brushing hands in places where the display would be seen as drawing unnecessarily attention to themselves. Proving a point would get them no where, not in Ohio at least. Both Blaine and Kurt had learned that the hard way.

In the short distance from Kurt's front porch to Blaine's car, they always held hands. Sure, it earned them teasing, and maybe even a joke or two from Blaine himself, but none of that mattered to Kurt.

"What was your one regret when Mom left us?"

"That I didn't hold her hand enough."


	3. fun with pamphlets

Kurt darted his tongue out in concentration as he added the finishing touches to his latest masterpiece.

Because the guy on page three was so asking for a handlebar mustache.

And a monocle.

And a speech bubble that read: '_Jolly good kind sir, I was hoping to engage in a sexual rendezvous this fine evening. Do you like my monocle_?'

"What a fine mustache," Blaine snorted, as he leaned over to grab one of the markers sitting between them.

"Let's see what you've got, Mr. Anderson," Kurt drawled, sitting back up against the headboard.

Blaine rolled back onto his back, handing him the vandalized pamphlet and looking up at him expectantly. The two poorly illustrated men engaging in oral sex were now pirates. Very, very gay pirates.

"A vast improvement," he smiled, handing him _Boys Will Be Boys_. "I'm just thankful that none of these seem to be a Emma Pillsbury original."

"So.. wanna talk about it?"

"Not particularly. Right now, I just want to color. I haven't had a proper excuse to color in ages."


	4. scent

There's something to be said about the comforts of home. One of Blaine's favorite pieces of Lima he took with him to New Haven has to be the faded McKinley sweatshirt Kurt has _sworn _him to secrecy not to reveal the existence of. It smells like him. He just want to crawl into it and sleep for days, only waking to breathe in the fading musk of his boyfriend's cologne. The cuffs of the sleeves are worn and the drawstrings from the hood were lost long ago. It's hard to believe something so ratty even has a place in Kurt's closet of fabulous clothes.

'Comfort clothes,' he had explained. Blaine gets that.

The best part of the day has to be when he's hiding under the covers with his phone pressed to his ear, curled up in Kurt's sweatshirt. His roommate will hiss at him to be quiet, and Blaine obliges. He prefers the quiet moments, anyway. He's content just listening to the sound of the other boy breathing. When he closes his eyes, the soft sounds and the scent buried in the fibers of the sweatshirt start to blend together - and just like that, they're back in Lima curled up on Kurt's bed. No distance, no paralyzing fear of where their college lives will take them - just them.

When his roommate accident washes the sweatshirt three weeks into the semester, Blaine wants to scream. He knows, somewhere in the logical part of his brain that he was just trying to be nice - just trying to help with the laundry. It doesn't matter how many times the other boy apologizes. Nothing will undo the fact that the sweatshirt now smells like some sickeningly sweet laundry detergent instead of Kurt.

Maybe when he goes back to Lima in a couple of weeks he can convince Kurt to wear it around, make it smell like _him _again.

Until then, he wears the sweatshirt anyway. It's better than nothing.


End file.
